Not a true story. I never knew either of my grandfathers, but I'm pretty sure if either of them had been anything like this guy I would have heard about it. This song started with the first two lines; I had no idea where it would go after that. It took about a year for everything to fall into place. For a while, the second verse used Sandy Koufax instead of Perry Mason; I changed it because I didn't think most people would recognize the name. I sang it in a church once, and felt obliged to apologize in advance for the language at the end. Nobody seemed to mind.

My parents - my real parents, not the characters in the song - are buried at​ Arlington. My father had a military funeral, which is a stunning thing to witness.

Granddad - Tom Heany (c) 2016

One winter my granddad moved in with us.I guess he was in between jails.As old as the bank in the middle of town, andSoft as a sack of nails.He'd sit and drink beer in the living roomRant about taxes and war.He'd curse and he'd yell and he'd drink and complain,And pound his cane on the floor.Then he'd stop and say “God Bless America,”Then he'd drink and he'd yell some more.

He ground us all down by Memorial DayWhen Mama made Dad throw him out.I asked, as he packed up his duffle bag,What all of the noise was about.He gathered himself for a minuteAs Perry Mason might doHe said “How many people are there in this worldWho would give up their lives for you?”I thought as hard as a 10 year old canBut I only came up with two.

Somehow he got us an automobileAnd we drove through the Maryland sunWe passed through Bethesda at twelve fifteen,And crossed the Potomac at one.We ended our journey at ArlingtonWhere Robert E Lee used to standAnd the national graveyard is up on a hillWatching over George Washington's land.I'd never seen so many tombstones,So I took my grandfather's hand.

We saw soldiers with guns and one with a bugleand a family lost in painA folded flag in a young woman's arms -you could tell she would never be the same.Granddad said, “There are 400,000 here, row after row after row.Each of them willing to die for a 10 year old boy they will never even know.He said, “War is the stupidest thing in the world and itSometimes has to be done.When all the bodies come home at the endYou can't always tell who's won.You asked about all of the yelling.You're wondering about all the beer.I'm nearing the end of a long hard lifeAnd my friends are all in here.”

He climbed to the seat of a little stone benchand he smoothed his ragged gray hair.He turned to his brothers and sisters in armsLike he had invited them there.Then he gathered himself, and opened his lungsAnd blistered the sanctified air.

Chorus I won't pay for the president's limousine ​Or the goddamn vice president's beer When I pay my taxes on April 15 Every goddamn penny goes here. You could boil the congress in oil And the whole blessed country would cheer I do what I want with the taxes I pay But all of my money goes here.

That was a really long time ago.The old guy eventually passed.He's there with his buddies in Arlington.Thank God he's quiet at last.I visit him every Memorial Day,And I take my whole family there.We gather ourselves by his tombstoneAnd look like a family in prayer.Then like one legged soldiers with beer in our belliesWe blister the sanctified air.

Chorus I won't pay for the president's limousine Or the goddamn vice president's beer When I pay my taxes on April 15 Every goddamn penny goes here. The Democrats and the Republicans They lie to us year after year – I say Screw them all, down to the last sorry bastard Ignorant self-absorbed criminal blowhards Life in a cesspool would be too damn good for them But I'm going to stop now before I get angry And pay my respects to the man and his comrades With expletives, outrage and beer I do what I want with the taxes I pay, And all of my money goes here. Every sacred penny goes here All of my money goes here.